


Bittersweet

by Le_Noir (Psycho_Chiquita)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Fluff, Gobblepot Week 2019, Humor, Look that dog loves Oswald as much as he loves the little slob ball, Lucius is a bro, M/M, Tailor AU, Teashop AU, and Harvey is just Harvey, coffee shop AU, does it count as a teashop or tailor AU if one is mentioned?, fight me, fuck it, one of which is in these tags, so there are a few more swear words and three are legit F drops, woops.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Le_Noir
Summary: Due to unforeseen events, Oswald finds himself frequenting a quaint cafe if only to spend his days gazing at the barista with the million watt smile and the laugh that makes him melt. There's just one itsy, bitsy,problem.Oswaldhatescoffee.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, it's currently 8:10 in the A.M. on a Saturday, and I woke up at 3 A.M.
> 
> Friday.
> 
> I'm running on adrenaline and 40 minutes of sleep (yes I went to sleep at two something Friday morning, what, you thought I was _responsible_ or something?) and this thing is unbeta'd because it literally hit me like a ton of bricks and I've been typing it out non-stop since I got off work. Friday.
> 
> This hasn't happened to me since my very first fan fic posting back in, 2016? ~~yup just checked, Oct 25th, '16~~ and I'm buzzing with so much pent up energy I think I'm about to vibrate into another plane of existence. 
> 
> I'm going to sleep until Sunday, you guys enjoy :*

There a good ways to start a morning. Waking up to the sound of nature setting outside the window as the early rays of sunshine peak through the drawn curtains. A long hot shower to revitalize before breaking fast, maybe even while skimming through the daily newspaper.

And then there are bad ways, Oswald finds out one morning after having realized with dread his phone wasn’t plugged in and his alarms never went off.

“Shit!”

He flings himself out of bed, hobbles to his armoire to set his clothes before rushing through his bathroom to run a comb through his hair and gurgle some mouthwash. Fighting to get one of his shoes on and straighten his tie at the same time he nearly stomps on his dog and sends him scampering out the room with a yelp.

“Edward! Edward I’m sorry!” he cries out as he yanks his keys and briefcase from the hallway table and books it to his front door. He doesn’t have much time for preparation other than flashing by his kitchen and grabbing an apple from the basket on his way out.

He’s in the middle of locking his door when he remembers he should probably stop by somewhere to get a few offerings for his client, since he’s heading the opposite direction of his own offices. With a groan he sets off to stop by the first cafe he comes across on the way.

It’s small, and inviting, and _empty,_ and Oswald nearly circles on his foot to head back out when he sees the clock overhead the register and realizes he doesn’t have time to be picky, regardless of the questionability of the coffee shop.

At the register he fidgets with the handle of his briefcase, his index tapping hastily against his wristwatch in anxious impatience for the entirety of a whole four seconds before he very nearly launches himself across the counter.

”He- _LLO?”_

He stewing in his own bitter thoughts on what he would’ve done had there been a service bell, _launch it across the room_ , when a bump from underneath the counter startles him.

A mumbled _Fuck_  followed by a hiss of pain follows, and then a ray of sunshine finally beams onto Oswald’s shitty day. Sporting a scowl and an apron.

The man is beautiful in a way that is completely unfair and Oswald can’t help but be mesmerized in the way his frown immediately smoothens out to a warm inviting smile as he rubs circles into the back of his honey colored hair.  
  
”I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t hear the doorbell go off from down there.”

It takes Oswald a little too long for his brain to catch up to his mouth, and he ends up letting out an undignified whine which he tries to cover with a cough.

“I-, I need a couple of coffees to go, please.” He looks around the counter, sees a porcelain pastry stand off to the side and hastily adds, “And one of each of those.”

“Making an impression?” the blonde asks with a humored grin, setting a take out tray and turning behind himself to reach underneath the counter for a pastry box.

“Just a client. Sales pitch,” Oswald responds with a nervous shrug and his mouth suddenly goes dry because wow, okay, that-, _that’s_ a view.

He’s not listening, of course he’s not, and hums in pardon for the man to repeat his question of “Drip or espresso?”

“Drip. Drip is fine,” he responds, not bothering to stop gazing longingly at the man’s ass.

He’s staring too hard and nearly gets caught when the barista turns back around with the packaged box in hand, but he flicks his eyes away last minute and feigns interest on the collection of cheap dollar store paintings along the far wall instead.

_Smooth. Real smooth._

“Thank you-”  
  
”Jim. Name’s Jim,” the man smiles, sliding everything over to the cash register. His movements are swift and purposeful, a very relaxed flow to his body where Oswald would’ve been curt and awkward if the tables were turned. He racks his brain for anything to prolong the moment, only thing coming to mind is to ask for the opening hours.  
  
”Seven to two, and then five to midnight for the bar service. Although to be honest most of our stuff isn’t well put together until ten,” he smiles almost apologetically, and shit, has Oswald always been this gay?

“Then I guess I caught you on a good day,” he responds with a tilt of his head and a raise of the pastries. 

He shifts the items in his hands and is about to walk away when the man snaps his fingers and ushers Oswald to wait with a pointed index. He rushes off to the porcelain stand and comes back with a muffin, tucking the bread into the drink carrier.

“The box might be for the clients, but make sure to save this one for yourself.”

Oswald stares obtusely at the bread, the blonde working his hands together. “Pineapple upside down. My idea, although I suck at baking,” he supplies with a laugh. “That’s why I’m up here.”  
  
He ducks his head and lets out a shy grin. “Thank you, again,” Oswald smiles, his mouth not used to being in anything other than a tight lipped grimace. God, he must look so awkward.

“Sure, ‘s no problem,” the blonde, _Jim_ , beams, his eyes crinkling in a way that numbs Oswald’s tongue and burns his neck. He nods his head dumbly, heading out before he does something stu- _and_  he tripped.

He turns around in mortification to see Jim already in the process of wiping down the counter. With a sigh of relief he walks back through the entrance, the door’s little bell ringing out his departure, and continues the trip towards his meeting.

Oswald finds himself a new morning routine from there on out.

* * *

He visits the cafe on a daily basis, making sure to squeeze room into his morning schedule for a stop for nearly a month straight when he feels confident enough to start dropping by in the evenings too, right before the shift change. 

Every day it’s the same routine, small talk over a pastry and a cup of coffee. He doesn’t have the nerve to tell Jim he doesn’t like coffee, but that’s not what he’s there for.

“We must really be cranking out some serious juice if you stop by twice a day now,” Jim jokes one evening, sliding into the opposite seat in the booth Oswald takes up once the rest of the cafe has cleared of the afternoon crowd.

“To be honest, your coffee could use some work,” Oswald jests, mischievous grin pulling his lips as he raises a pudding roll for a bite. “But I’ll be damned if I find a place that could rival these. I swear I’ll have to get refitted for this.”

Jim gives a lighthearted chuckle. “I’ll have to let Lucius know someone is swooning over his hard work.”

He’s paying more attention to his pastry than anything else, but he can’t help imagine noticing Jim from his peripheral studying the way he bites into the bread. At least he _thinks_  he’s imagining it.

“Besides, you don’t look like you’ll need a refitting. And if that’s the case maybe I’ll finally get to see you _out_  of a suit for once.”

Oswald tries _very hard_ not to choke on his bite, involuntarily swallowing the entire thing whole. His mind flies a million miles an hour and he thinks he’s about to hypervetilate. It’s his chance, he’s not sure if he’s gonna do it, will it come out okay? Can he do it?

“Gosh Jim, buy me a coffee first, will ya?”

Shit. He did.

Jim snorts into a giggling fit and Oswald tries to act like it’s not the most adorable thing in the world.

“Alright alright, next one’s on me.”

Holy fuck it _worked_.

He works his lips into a nervous smile, wanting to say more but his phone cuts him off before he has a chance to.

_2:15; next client coming in at 3, Sir_

Jim shifts in his seat to stand and steals a glance from Oswald. “I guess that’s my cue to get back and actually do my job.”

He walks by the booth to head back towards the counter, placing his hand gingerly on Oswald’s shoulder  
  
”See you tomorrow,” he calls from behind him, and for once Oswald wishes he wasn’t such a workaholic.

* * *

 

He specifically picked out every item putting the suit together last night, pulling out his best pressed slacks and his favorite paisley printed vest, always loving how the light gold brought out his eye color. He’s aiming to look his best, swinging the coat over his shoulders to shrug it on when he decides last minute to keep it off, opting for a more casual look.

 _Yeah, casual,_  he snorts derisively, looking himself over in his standing mirror. Champagne colored vest over an ash grey dress shirt, sterling silver cufflinks gleaming in the shine of the sunlight coming in through the bathroom window. Casual.

He made sure to make even _more_ room in his morning schedule to make himself presentable for the day, at least more than his typical style, and he’s going all out for it. It seems that even Edward noticed from his pillowed bed at the foot of Oswald’s own king, his head resting on the rim of his cushion as he quietly observes Oswald’s movements throughout the room. He takes the time to give his dog a longer belly rub than usual before heading out the door.  
  
He walks in with purpose, no briefcase in hand this time since he has no meetings up until well after noon. The bell sings off its delicate chime and Oswald could’ve practically skipped his way to the counter, if it wasn’t for his bad knee of course.

He’s leaning into it with more gusto than ever and nearly misses the fact that it’s been ten minutes before he looks around the empty room with uncertainty.  
  
"Hello?” he calls out gently, unsure if Jim is under the counter again and not wanting to risk another scare jump. When he gets no response, he calls out again, louder this time.

“He-llo?”

Nothing.

He stays leaned against the counter, his hands folded over his waist and his fingers nervously spinning the emerald cufflink on his sleeve vent before his foot starts fidgeting and he feels foolish for thinking today could be the day.

He hears a staggering groan come from one of the booths, and turns towards it in worried anticipation. He makes his way over, not really sure of what he’s expecting to find once he peers over the booth seat, but what ever it was it surely wasn’t, _that_.

“Homygod I’m dying,” comes from the haggard man that’s slumped in the seat and sprawled across the tabletop. He holds onto the ledges for dear life and shakes his head gently, his long auburn locks swaying with the slight movements.

”Please make it stop,” he slurs.

“Where’s Jim?” Oswald asks, unsure of what to make of the situation but feeling it’s not within him to do anything about it. Besides, he has other pressing matters.

“ ‘s all movin’, why, gotta pull out the ‘schlager, I’s fine but _no_ ,” the man goes on, clearly not registering Oswald standing over him, or the incessant tapping of his Oxfords.

“Where’s, _Jim?_ ” he asks once again, frustration bringing him short.

“Oswald?” he hears from behind him, and a wave of relief washes over him. He turns around with what is supposed to be his most charming smile, but it falters and drops off completely when he turns to face Jim fully.

Heavy duty garbage bags are wrapped around his jean legs, and gloves pulled high over his rolled up sleeves. He has one hand holding a bucket filled with cleaning supplies and the other dragging an overstuffed trash bag.

Confusion must have been evident on his face, because Jim makes a pointed look towards the man in the booth. “I see you met Harvey. Our bartender.”

”Hiyah,” is grumbled from the drunk behind him, and Oswald just gulps around the new information, walks closer to the counter.

“He’s inebriated."

”Yeah, because _someone_  doesn’t know how to not get high from his own supply.”

“H-ey, It was all paid for.”

Jim rolls his eyes, strides behind the counter to slip the cleaning supplies underneath and shifts the bag from one hand to the other to place behind the half wall.

“Sorry I wasn’t out sooner, had to make sure the restroom was at least partially presentable,” he apologizes as he takes the bag off his head and strips the rest of the plastic off of him.

“Sorry not sorry,” comes from the booth.

Jim chuffs, shaking his head as he scrubs his arms vigorously in the small sink behind the coffee machine.

All of Oswald’s excitement and steamroller confidence is nothing but a simmer, feeling like a complete ass standing there without knowing what to say.

”Big, party last night?” _no shit Sherlock._

“Not really, just some big spender celebrating a merger or something another. Lucius walked in at three in the morning on this one slumped over the toilet bowl sounding like he was dying-” “I _am_ -” “-And shot me a text to be prepared to clean up the aftermath.”

Oswald leans into the counter, his crossed arms resting on the surface and his face lit with delvilish delight. Jim side eyes him, muttering with a grin of his own.

“Shuddup.”

“Didn’t say anything,” he unfolds his arms in defence.

“Uh-huh.”

They stand in companionable silence, Jim moving through the motions of preparing Oswald’s usual as Oswald watches him in silent admiration.

“Wait, did you say ‘Oswald’?” cuts through their comfortable moment, and Oswald turns to face Harvey sticking his head from over the booth all of a sudden, looking a little more alert and lively.

“Uh, Harv-” Jim tries to cut him off but he presses right through.

”You’re Oswald?”

Oswald tilts his head to the side, slits his eyes warily. “Yes?”

“You’re a dude?"

"What-” Oswald turns back to Jim with confusion, but the harsh blush spreading through his usually rose tinted cheeks shorts out Oswald’s brain.

“Well it was always just “Oz”, I never really put two and two together, and it’s not like I’m ever here at this time,” Harvey goes on, snorting in self amusement as he rolls his hands in the air to imply _besides today_.

Choosing to turn away from Jim to get his mind working again, Oswald furrows his brows at Harvey.

“You thought Oz was a woman’s name?"

The mental gears groaning into a start can be seen clearly on Harvey’s face as he tries to process that logic.

"It could. Maybe. I dunno, like ‘Osmilda?’ Maybe?”

He snorts and turns back to the table, muttering under his breath and adjusting himself for what Oswald assumes is a nap. It was a good thing most of the morning sales consist of carry-outs.

He turns around to face Jim once again, not sure how to process what he just witnessed writ across his face and instead looks down to his hands. Today is _not_  going the way he planned.

There’s more silence between them when a buzzer rings out from the kitchen, and Jim looks towards the swinging door with a sudden burst of glee.

“Could you maybe hold on, for just a sec? I need to check on something real quick.”

He dashes through the door walking backwards, both index fingers raised to ask Oswald to stay in place. As if he would rather be anywhere else.

After a couple of minutes, noisy shuffling comes through from the kitchen and Oswald looks up in time to see a blur drop from the swinging door’s window. He barely has time to wonder when someone else ends up walking through the door, Jim anxiously following close behind with a white paper bag in hand.

"You must be Oz,” the dark man inquires, a warm smile lighting his face. For the second time Oswald sees Jim rub the back of his neck and divert his gaze away from him.

A hand is extended over the counter towards him. “Lucius. I do the baking in the back. Heard you were a fan."

A small smile spreads across Oswald’s lips as he takes the hand and gives a minute shake. “I have to say your pastries are half the reason I stop by every day. I was telling Jim it’ll cost me soon enough, having to get an entirely new wardrobe.”

Lucius eyes him up and down, nodding in agreement. “It would be a shame, your dress wear certainly is stunning.”

Oswald practically preens under the compliment, and sees Jim covertly check out his suit as well. Two for two, maybe Oswald still has hope.

“You know I’ve been looking into getting my own suits tailored, and I’m also in the market for new waistcoats. You wouldn’t happen to have any recommendations?”

Oswald turns to respond to the question innocently enough, but hesitates once he notices the faint smile Lucius has hidden underneath his stoic veneer.

That makes him nervous.

"I-, you know it’s been so long since I’ve had a suit tailored myself, and there’s just so many places I tend to stop by it’s all just a blur to me,” he responds with nervous laughter, trying to cut the conversation short as quickly as possible.

Lucius hums in thought, gives a single nod of his head as he takes a step towards the register to help ring up the order. “Well that’s unfortunate, you do seem to have impeccable taste.”

Never one to turn down praise, Oswald beams once more but still fidgets in pulling out his wallet, collecting his coffee and pastry off the counter.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but I do have to get going-”  
  
"Hold on, here,” Jim steps in, gently shoving Lucius out of the way to close the distance between himself and Oswald, his hands eagerly shaking the paper bag over the counter. "Brioche.”

He stares at the bag in slight awe, taking in from Jim’s hands. “It’s still a work in progress, but I figured I could give a sneak peak to my number one fan,” Lucius jokes from his stance against the register.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jim warns.  
  
_You're hot_ , Oswald thinks to retaliate with as he grabs the bag with a smirk. The look he’s faced with from both Jim _and_  Lucius however gives him the mortifying realization that he was thinking out loud.

He wishes he were dead.

"I have to, um-,” Oswald weakly points to the door, taking a few fumbling steps backwards towards the entrance.  
  
Just as his hand grips the pull bar he hears Lucius call out, "Enjoy the coffee!” and he turns to the counter with a look of terror, running out the door with one last panicked thought.

 _Shit. Shit shit shit, he knows._ “

* * *

 

What was that all about?” Jim grills Lucius after Oswald practically made a run for his life.

  
"I was just making small talk,” Lucius responds surreptitiously, his shoulder raising up to meet his ear.

“Didn’t seem like it was that small to him.”

“You honestly have no idea who he is, do you?”

Jim blinks, having not expected anyone to know who Oswald was. He shakes his head slowly with a frown.

Lucius sighs. “That’s the king of Gotham.”

When Jim makes no signs of acknowledgement, Lucius continues. “Oswald Cobblepot is widely known for inheriting the Van Dahl estate from his father after he passed away, made news considering he was big time old money. Along with the estate was their generational tailor shop he helped run with his father.”

Jim shrugs apathetically, as if the information mattered to him.  
  
”What interests me about him being here, however,” Lucius presses on, “Is that before his father passed away, Mr.Cobblepot was known for a different business venture.

He owns a tea shop. In the fashion district. And from what I hear, he’s not known for being fond of coffee.”  
  
Jim’s brain flatlines from over exertion, trying to process what this means for him.  
  
”I’m not-, I don’t know, what that means-”  
  
”Means you got a stalker, Jimbo,” Harvey needlessly adds in without so much as a glance towards them.  
  
Jim and Lucius exchange looks, Lucius biting his lip as he claps Jim on the shoulder almost consolingly on his way back into the kitchen, leaving him alone with his thoughts. And Harvey’s snoring. 

* * *

 

Oswald stretches himself out on his sofa and stares at the ceiling in contemplation, one arm hanging off while the other scratches circles into Edward’s head on his chest.

“I don’t know what to do, Edward.”

The bulldog licks his chops, offering solemn companionship as he stares down towards Oswald expressionlessly.  
  
Oswald sighs. “I thought I could work it out through the circumstance, like maybe I had a chance, but there is no way the baker hasn’t already told him a bout me.”

Edward whines.

“What do I do?”

He rocks his good knee anxiously, his hand methodically going back and forth across his dog’s forehead. There is honestly only one way to straighten out the mess he’s gotten himself into, and it involves confronting Jim once more on his afternoon visit. He’s not sure what he’ll do if it turns out to be his last.

He smiles towards Edward, giving him a final pat on the head. “At least I’ll have you to come home to.”

Edward wags his entire body erratically, crawling his way up Oswald’s chest to get a better angle at licking across his face.

Oswald spends a good amount of time in the bathroom washing himself up from his dog’s show of affection.

* * *

 

It’s almost closing time for the afternoon break when Oswald makes his reappearance in the cafe.

He looks as if he’s expecting the world to crumble around him any minute, and tries to regain his composure before Jim notices him from his hunch over the espresso machine. Unbeknownst to him, Jim had been eyeing him as soon as he caught glimpse of his raven locks rounding the corner of the shop through the open windows.

They beam at each other when the customer between them finally clears away from the counter, and their nervousness resurfaces when they both stumble to talk over one other.  
  
”I apologize for the abrupt departure-” “I’m sorry if Lucius overstepped any-”  
  
They stop and smile, Oswald working the cufflink again and Jim mindlessly folding a cleaning cloth in his hands.  
  
”Coffee?” Jim offers, reaching aside the coffee machine and raising a to-go container in Oswald’s direction. He takes it with a gentle grin, dropping his head and nodding towards one of the booths he usually sits in when the shop is nearing a close.

Oswald leans against the plush covering as he stares out the window, a niggling thought biting away in the back of his mind. Any other thoughts he might’ve had dissipate the moment Jim slides into the opposite side of the booth.

“Find the bread any good?”

With a delighted scoff, Oswald leans across the table as if sharing a secret. “I couldn’t possibly eat it all, but the few bites I had? Let me tell you, it’ll be amazing as a slice of toast tomorrow morning.”

Jim scratches the back of his neck with a laugh, brings it down to clasp on the table surface. “Good, good that’s great.” He points towards the drink tucked in Oswald’s clasped hands.

“So how’s the coffee?”

“Great!” Oswald beams, his fingers fanning around the paper cup.

Jim furrows his eyebrows. “Really?”

Oswald hesitates, never thinking he would end up needing to give an opinion on any of the drinks he was handed throughout his visits. At most, he’d take a whiff and appreciate the smells coming from the drinking gap in the lid, but most of the time he just ends up staring at the brown liquid spiral its way down the drain.  
  
"To be honest, it’s all the same to me, as long as it gets me going, you know?” he replies furtively.

Jim looks disappointed in his reply. “I changed it up this time, kinda hoped you noticed.”  
  
Oswald starts sweating because, he’s in deep shit and if he doesn’t fix this now it’ll just get worse.

“Jim, there’s something I need to tell-”  
  
"Did you at least try it?”

Oswald blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The drink? Did you try it at all?”

“Jim I don’t think-”

“Just try it. Trust me.”

And the hilarity of it all is, he does. He does trust Jim, enough to take a sip out of some overrated bitter caffeine fueled drink to appease him than to sit here and deny that whatever this thing they have going on between them even exists.

He’s loathe to drink it, hesitant to even lift the cup off the table but he gathers himself enough to raise the plastic lid to his lips and takes a taste.

It’s nothing but hot at first, and a mildly lingering taste of-

He pinches his face, yanks the lid off the cup and stares down into the bottom in disbelief.

“It’s hot water.”

He looks up to Jim in shock, meeting his stoic gaze with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“I thought you were joking when you said it’s all the same to you,” Jim says lightheartedly.

Oswald drops his eyes, realization kicking in. “You knew.”

“Not always,” Jim shrugs. “But I will admit I was a little suspicious when I accidentally gave you someone else’s dirty chai and you never brought it up afterwards,” he adds with a smile.

There's a mad blush that's spreads across Oswald's face, his freckles contrasting strikingly against the heavy tinge of scarlet. Jim stares in fascination.

Oswald breaks into his own hysterics because he never realized it never had to be _coffee_.

“Damn. What a waste of a perfectly good chai,” he says, wiping the corner of his eye.

“I bet yours tastes better.”

“You know what,” Oswald thinks smugly, folding his hands, "I bet it does. At least it’s not your ground up bean juice.”

“Like hot leaf water is any better?” Jim retorts.

Oswald can’t help but snort. “We also prepare Turkish coffee.”

“Oh now that’s just unfair. It's just _fancy_ ground up bean juice at that point.”

"Tell me Jim, if coffee is considered a bean wouldn’t that make the end result a soup?”

Jim is the first to break, but Oswald soon follows, both of them gripping their corresponding sides of the table as they ride out their momentary high.

“I’m not sure, I think that’s up for debate,” Jim finally says after a break in their laughter.

Oswald seems to slowly sober himself up, suddenly nervous all over again. “We, can maybe talk it over lunch sometime?”

Jim's smile falters into a frown, shaking his head slightly. “I-, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can-” he starts to say before being cut off by a sharp gasp.

Oswald’s face drops, breaking eye contact immediately because this hurts. He’s pretty sure an outright rejection would’ve hurt less. “Oh god.”

It’s Jim’s turn to be confused, watching Oswald as he fidgets in his seat.

“You’re, you’re not gay, are you,” he says, more of a statement than it is a question.

Jim barks a laugh, looks at Oswald’s hurt face and clears his throat with a swallow to compose himself.

“No, no I’m not. I’m bi. What I was going to say is I don’t think I can find someone to cover my shift anytime soon, but I’m always available for dinner, if that’s okay with you.”

The way Oswald’s face lights up at that, it’s like spotting sunshine through an overcast sky, the blooming of a flower that breaks through frost and snow. It's beautiful to Jim, and he wants to see more of it.

"Well at least I don’t have to deal with anymore black coffee. Not sure how anyone can drink it like that,” Oswald carefully jokes, still scared of ruining whatever this is.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Jim replies with a casual smile, his fingers grazing over Oswald’s across the table.

“I usually add a spoonful of sugar to mine. I prefer it bittersweet.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _I want to be the reason you look down at your phone and smile. Then walk into a pole._  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> I still don't know what the hell just happened and I'm reeling from random word vomit whiplash like, how? _how??_ how is this possible I struggle so much just to get 1k words out within a week and in the span of ~~oh please don't make me do math just existing at this point hurts~~ less than a day I get 5k+  
> (p.s. came back after a recount, 4k+)
> 
> Honestly this wasn't even supposed to be the one I was going to post for the Valentine's day prompt but it bit me in the ass and didn't let go until I picked up the laptop so _ta-dah_. But also sorry that the other one got bumped out, I swear once I'm not suffering from sleep deprivation I'll get right back to it.
> 
> I'm going to ~~go cry now~~ bed. I'm going to bed.
> 
> -P.C. (Le Noir)


End file.
